Trouser Frocks and Red Cross Armbands
by Lavinia Swire
Summary: Alternatively titled Sybil's Sensation Seeking Skirts. Three times Sybil wears something new and exciting.


**Still don't own Downton Abbey, or any of Sybil's dresses, for that matter. **

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><p>She was so impatient to get downstairs and show off her outfit that she couldn't help fidgeting for the entire time Anna dressed her.<p>

To be quite honest, the trouser frock wasn't any more comfortable or practical than her other dresses. There was still a corset – Sybil wasn't quite ready to leave that off yet, despite her frequent threats to throw it in the fire – and the fabric was so delicate she was scared of ripping it, even though there was no long skirt or train to negotiate.

But then, Sybil mused, watching her reflection smile gleefully back at her, comfort and practicality wasn't really the point here.

"Thank you, Anna." Anna, Sybil noticed to her amusement, seemed almost as thrilled as she was.

Sailing down the main staircase in a dress that resembled something out of A Thousand and One Nights, there was no room for anything in Sybil's head apart from the thrill of wearing trousers – rather floaty ones, but they were definitely trousers – for the very first time.

However, when she paused for a moment outside the sitting room door, just to smooth down her trousers and touch her hand a little self-consciously to her fabric tiara, she felt the tiniest half-doubt in the back of her mind. What on Earth would everybody say? Granny might have a heart attack! Perhaps she should call Anna again, change into something else -

She didn't give the thought any longer to set in. Raising her head, she stepped forward and burst through the door.

"Good evening, everyone."

The looks on everyone's faces almost made her burst out laughing.

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><p>When Sybil had been a little girl, she and her sisters had spent countless afternoons playing with Mama's hats, trying on her shoes and sweeping up and down with their noses in the air, playing at being grand ladies. But she had never felt more like she was dressing up than she did today. Even with the dress on she still felt like a fraud.<p>

The nurse's uniform was strictly practical, with its simple shape and rather dull grey skirts. She remembered all her old frocks a little ruefully and was glad Mary had made her take one evening dress, just for the fact that it brightened up the drabness of her wardrobe.

She straightened the white armband with the red cross on it for the hundredth time.

Perhaps she hadn't honestly realised before that this wasn't a game. Up until now there had been various wild images in her mind of heroic acts, soldiers gritting their teeth bravely through the pain, nurses in crisp uniforms…romance, glamour, excitement.

Now she was confronted with the stark reality, it seemed the uniforms were the only thing her brain had got right. Now there was the smell of carbolic soap and men without limbs exercising in the yard outside.

Giving herself a small shake, she gripped her hands together. Why was she suddenly having doubts? Wasn't this what she'd been longing for ever since Cousin Isobel had mentioned nursing?

She couldn't back out now, she simply couldn't. And her armband was _definitely_ straight.

Squaring her shoulders, Sybil walked out the room, closing the door firmly behind her.

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><p>"Oh, my dear!" Mama looked as though she wanted to hug Sybil but simply didn't dare, not after the two hours she had just spent getting ready.<p>

"Oh, Mama!" Sybil felt rather ridiculous being almost in tears over a dress – but it wasn't just any dress, she reminded herself, it was her wedding dress.

It was a little ridiculous having such a traditional dress. She had seen a rather lovely one on display in Ripon, but had thought Granny might really have a heart attack if she had to watch her youngest granddaughter marrying in a calf-length skirt (the part about the socialist chauffeur would pale into insignificance), and had decided against it. Agnes had done such a good job on this one, after all. The silkiest cream fabric, the tiny pearls, Mama's old veil.

And it wasn't as though her wedding was as traditional as her dress.

Sybil examined her image in the mirror and could barely suppress a squeak of delight. Of course, she felt like this every time she wore a frock for the first time – that excitement, all the possibilities that came with something brand new and immaculate that was just for you – but today it seemed multiplied a hundred times. So much newness and anticipation crammed into one garment.

"Are you nervous, darling?" Mama's anxious voice brought her back to the present.

Sybil frowned slightly. Was she? She'd had seven years for nerves, after all.

"_With you have your own way, do you think? With the frock?"_

She smiled at the memory, and at the thought of the man waiting for her.

"No, Mama. I'm not nervous at all."


End file.
